


Sharpen your swords, O Elves of Nargothrond

by OrodrethTheTraitor



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-01-10 06:58:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12293772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrodrethTheTraitor/pseuds/OrodrethTheTraitor
Summary: Sundry tales of Elven politics.





	1. Left-Hand Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A right-hand man of distinction teaches his great-grandson how to sit on the left.

_Tirion, Years of the Trees 1475_

* * *

"Alatatar, why was Prince Nolofinwë sitting to the right of the King? Is that not Prince Feänaro's place?"

The times were not entirely untroubled, so Anwë considered his answer carefully.

"You have seen me seated at Ingwë's right hand. Is it not Ingwion's place?"

"But you're Ingwë's own  _brother!_ Besides, Prince Ingwion was away."

"And Feänaro is in the North, seeking gems.  Nolofinwë, as second in line, serves in Feänaro's stead, as I serve in Ingwion's.  It is entirely proper."

Laurefin seemed satisfied, and the two continued walking back towards the High-King's tower. But the boy was ever curious when it came to matters of lordship, and Anwë eager to teach. Who could say, after all, that the young one would not someday lead his own House?

"And did you not wonder who sat so quietly at Finwë's  _left?_  That is the Queen's place, is it not?"

"Lord Arattorë, of course!  Queen and Heir are as the left and right hand of a King, but the First Councillor serves in the Queen's absence."

"You are correct, but that was not Arattorë.  It was Lord Bruithwir."

"A lesser councillor, then?" The boy's forehead wrinkled. "But that would be … against protocol, would it not? Should the seat not have simply been left empty?"

"Finwë  _never_  errs in matters of protocol -- how could he? Think. Who is a lord's right hand?"

"His heir, of course.  My grandfather sits at yours, and my father at his, and I at my father's."

"Just so, indyondo.  Ingwë's and Olwë's fathers remained in the Outer Lands. Finwë's followed him here."

 _"_ Bruithwir is the King's _father?"_

"Indeed. You wonder why you have not seen him before, and did not even know who he was?"

"Has he been away from Tirion since before I was born?"

Anwë laughed, not entirely merrily.  Bruithwir never ventured far from Tirion these days.

"Consider, Lauron.  A wise lord never withholds advice from his heir.  A wise heir does not gainsay his father.  Yet Finwë is the King, and must rule  _all_  of the Noldor according to his own will. What would you do in Bruithwir's stead?"

The boy thought as they walked, allowing several minutes to pass before replying. 

"I would stay away from councils, or at least stay silent in them. I would give my son advice, but no one would ever know whether he took it."

"Just so. Remember that. A day may come when our people establish new realms. Ingwë and the senior princes are all content with what they have, so if that day ever comes, it will be our sons or grandsons, or perhaps  _their_  sons, who become Kings."

Anwë smiled and winked at the boy, but did not fail to mark the similarity of this day's lesson to one he'd received from his own father, Imin, not long after Oromë had made himself known to the Elves of Cuiviénen. He wondered once more whether he would ever see the Outer Lands again, and for the first time, the thought gave him a chill.

* * *

_Notes: Laurefin is, of course, Glorfindel. "Alatatar" and "indyondo" are my best efforts at the Quenya words for "great-grandfather" and "great-grandson." Tolkien never says Ingwë was Unbegotten, so here I'm made him the son of Imin (the first Elf to awake at Cuivenen), and given him a brother, Anwë. Glorfindel is a Noldo, of course, but presumably has plenty of Vanyarin blood, so I took the liberty of making a descendant of that brother. This story is set 20 Valian Years (equivalent to about 195 Sun-Years) before the Darkening, and I imagine Glorfindel as being a half-grown boy here._


	2. Behind Locked Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turin finds an ally.

_Shortly after his arrival in Nargothrond, YoS 490_

* * *

"Well met, Turin son of Hurin."  
  
The look on the Man's face was both priceless and pitiful.  "How... how came you by that name?"  
  
The Elf, who had been waiting comfortably in Turin's chambers, shifted forward in his chair.  "Your name is written plainly enough in your thoughts, for those who would see."  
  
"How came you here?  And through a locked door.  That is the work of outlaws, not the Noldor."  
  
A quiet chuckle.  "And are there no outlaws among the Noldor?  But here, at least, I am not outlaw.  Merely one who is fond of doors and locks, and wishes to speak with you."  
  
Turin closed the door behind him.  "Very well.  But I would know your name."  
  
"Agarwaen son of Umarth.  Or, if you prefer, Celebrimbor son of Curufin son of Feanor."  
  
Silence for a moment.  "I see.  And why are you here?"  
  
"To speak with you, of course.  Why else?"  
  
"But why not at table, or, since you must be a lord, your chambers?"  
  
"Those would not be proper for the discussion I wish."  
  
"A serious matter, then."  
  
"Yes.  I would seek your aid."  
  
A grim laugh.  "Then you are a fool, for all who seek that come to grief."  
  
"I will come to grief whether I am a fool or not.  As will you.  Why, then, should I fear to ask a boon?"  
  
"I have little to offer except service to Nargothrond in battle.  Dor-lomin is fallen, and I am now lord of no one, save myself."  
  
"You are the lord of less than that,  _for the moment_ , but your service in battle is of great worth."  
  
"I have already offered my sword to the King, as you must know, so what boon could you ask?  I have only one life to give."  
  
"There are two parties in Nargothrond.  One, the people of Finarfin, who are for the most part, shall we say, not overbold in heart.  You have seen Orodreth.  The other party, those of my people who followed my father and uncle here, escaping from Dagor Bragollach.  We are bold, to excess.  Much like yourself."  
  
Turin motioned for Celebrimbor to continue.  
  
"The problem is that the first party greatly outnumbers the second."  
  
"You would have me set strife here then?  I have had more than enough of that, but why would you want such strife when we should be fighting Angband?"  
  
"I want no strife within Nargothrond.  And few hate Angband more than I."  
  
"What mean you then?"  
  
"You are the mightiest warrior here.  Nargothrond can choose, as the King favors, to hide, and wait for aid from the Valar.  Or it can choose to go forth in battle while our lives last.  It is plain that you would choose the latter.  But you are only one man."  
  
"I am only one man, you say, but in battle I am worth many.  Yet still you have asked no boon."  
  
"Can you not guess it?  I had heard your mind was as sharp as your blade.  Is it?"  
  
A scowl.  "Then you should also have heard that I am not one to patiently play word-games.  Speak plainly!"  
  
"Very well.  The boon is thus.  Lead by example, and help the people of this city to understand that arms are indeed the best wall against Morgoth.  I cannot, for my skill in battle is small, at least in the wielding of weapons.  Forging them is another matter, but it is the wielding that wins renown."  
  
Now Turin laughed.  "I, an example?  The slayer of my greatest friend?  The captain who led his men to ruin?  The ungrateful fosterling?"  
  
"Beleg's death is held by all to be an ill chance.  You are not the only one here who has slain Elves, either by the sword or with fell words, but you are the only one who is not blamed for it.  The lesser party here cannot sway the greater, because of such grievances.  The grievances themselves are just, but nonetheless our approach to fighting Morgoth is the better.  You can sway the people of this city if you are clever.  There is great might and courage in the people of Finarfin, but it is also very difficult to awaken them from their present slumber.  Finrod himself failed to do so."  
  
"I have heard the blame for that lies at the feet of your own father and uncle."  
  
Celebrimbor stood and strode silently towards Turin, stopping within a foot of his face,  Being a head shorter, that was as close as he could get without touching him.  Elf faced Man, the former holding the latter's eyes, utterly without fear.  Turin wondered, for few now looked on him without apprehension.  
  
Celebrimbor held this posture for a long moment before replying.  "You have heard correctly.  But not all of us have gone mad.  You, Turin, are far closer to madness than I.  Should I fear you?  Ha!  Of course not, for you agree with what I say.  It is only your enemies, those who disagree with you, and those you love, who need fear you.  I am none of those."  
  
Turin glared down at the Feanorian.  "Fell words.  Those, your kin are known for.  But you speak the truth."  
  
"And you hold truth in high esteem.  The truth, then, Turin son of Hurin son of Galdor, is that while we cannot hope to defeat Morgoth, at least we may assail him.  But Nargothrond will not do so unless you lead it into battle.  And you will not lead it into battle unless you convince its people you are worthy to do so.  And the way to doing that, lies first through  _my_  people.  Win our respect, and you will win that of the others, or at least the majority.  Not as quickly as you would prefer, but in the blink of an eye as we account it."  
  
"You seek to use me for your own ends.  Though we are of the same mind on this matter, I do not like it.  Though mortal, I am no child."  
  
"Then you would know why I seek to 'use' you, as you put it?"  
  
"I would."  
  
"Because I hate Morgoth.  Anything I can do to harm him, I call good."  
  
Turin laughed.  This Elf was unlike any others he had met.  "Well said, my fell friend!  I shall do as you suggest.  If indeed there are others of like mind here, we will do great harm to him, before we die."  
  
"That is my hope.  As he laid a curse on your father's kin, so his deeds led to a curse being laid on  _all_  of my kin, even the fair people of Finrod, who were indeed as blameless as the young children of Hurin.  For that, he must pay."  
  
With that, Celebrimbor departed, leaving Turin alone to his thoughts.  
  


* * *

_Notes: _Celebrimbor would know a curse of a Vala when he saw one.  And Turin must have had help in winning supporters.__  
  
"Say this to Manwe Sulimo, High King of Arda: if Feanor cannot overthrow Morgoth, at least he delays not to assail him, and sits not idle in grief." - Feanor, The Silm.   
  
"Secrecy is not finally possible: arms are the only wall against Morgoth" - Turin, The Children of Hurin


	3. Behind The Chair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Elrond.

_Imladris, T.A. 2_

* * *

"You know very well that Elrond has always preferred to be the power behind the throne.” 

Glorfindel, exasperated, nearly shouted in reply, "How can he be the power behind the throne when no one  _sits_  it?  Who could possibly think that Elrond is anything less than our rightful King?  And who could think that the King should be anyone but him?"

Erestor scowled.  "Who, indeed?  Galadriel, for one, but she cannot very well challenge his claim if he does not _make_ it." 

He then paused, waiting for the workings of his friend's mind to take their course, before adding "Indeed he renounces even the title Lord.  Now, why might he do that, do you think?"

The warrior stared determinedly out Erestor's window, at some half-grown youths playing a game of chess.  Well he knew of Elrond's childhood, growing up in the care of the last sons of Fëanaro.  Maitimo had ceded the High Kingship to Nolo because…

Then he laughed loudly.  "He intends to be the power behind  _his own_  chair!  Our King shall rule in the guise of the wise, kindly, and vaguely sorrowful Master of Imladris."

Erestor then broke into a grin the likes of which had not been seen in the valley for several yeni.  "Brilliant, is it not?  Devious, cunning and above all,  _confusing_.  If Galadriel ever figures it out - and I doubt she will - it will be only after it is far too late to challenge him.  Good!  Only the Valar know why she thinks we would ever follow  _her_ , of all people, but clearly she does.  It seems her band of Silvan sychophants has addled her mind.  Pity, that." 

Such an attitude made Glorfindel rather sad, no matter that he could in no wise condemn it.  His fair cousin had once been the brightest jewel of the House of Finwë.  But Artanis of Tirion was long lost.  Only Galadriel remained.

* * *

_Notes: yeni is the plural of yen, the Quenya word for the Elven "long count" time unit, 144 years._


	4. The Greater Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forming the White Council

Lothlorien, T.A. 2463

* * *

Celeborn considered the makeup of the Council. Two Maiar, three Ringbearers, the reborn Glorfindel - and himself. There were to be eight Members, with five votes needed to decide policies, so one had yet to be added. The nomination of the final member was his to make, but the others could reject it.

Of those who both had the gravitas necessary to effectively serve on the Council and were worth considering, the only ones whose whereabouts were certain were Thranduil and Erestor. There were a few others — Gildor came to mind — who had the necessary lineage, but to put it kindly, Eru had not favored them with the greatest of mental faculties.

"You would not consider Thranduil? He is, after all, the only King among us," the silver-haired lord proposed.

All except Cirdan shook their heads. This was to be a council of the Wise, and the implicit vote on whether Thranduil was wise was five to two against him.

With the current seven, in matters where the interests of the Quendi of Ennor conflicted with 'the greater good', Celeborn knew well that he would on occasion have as many as six votes against him. The Istari would not favor the Elves. Glorfindel seemed for all practical purposes a Maia, and one could never be sure where his mind truly rested. Elrond had strange ideas based on some unpronounceable, foreign word —  _self-abne-_ something? — and no longer resembled Gil-galad's herald. Cirdan would usually side with Celeborn, but in matters of great import, might be too easily swayed by Ulmo and Ossë. And his own wife, alas, would cast away all for the chance to return to Valinor.

Though Celeborn had hated Erestor for two Ages, at least the latter could be counted on to favor the Quendi, so at the worst, he would have one ally. Associating that word with the heart-son of Curufin was a strange irony, but as his beloved was wont to say, the world was changing.

So, the words came evenly. "Then I nominate Erestor." Heads nodded, and it was done.

* * *

_Notes: "self-abne-something?" -- Tolkien wrote at length (and in very annoying fashion) about the self-abnegation inherent in the policy the Elves pursued at the end of the Third Age._


	5. Counter-Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The greater good.

_Lothlorien, T.A. 2662_

* * *

Yet another meeting of the White Council had concluded.  As hosts, Celeborn and Galadriel stood while the other members filed out.  The trailing two, however, exchanged a nod at the doorway of the Hall of Welcome, and turned back.

 The elder spoke first.  "Now would be a good time to discuss the other matter, would it not?"

 Heads nodded and the four Elves retook their seats at the great table.  Cirdan, recognizing the dangers of haste, spoke slowly and carefully.

 "The uses of a Great Ring, we are all familiar with, though from different viewpoints.  Erestor will speak on this matter, but know that in this case, his council and mine are the same."    

 The counsellor thought of his long-ago youth as a scribe and messenger serving Finwë’s court, and of Finwë himself, before beginning.  

"Do you remember the arguments in the King's court, shortly preceding the great rupture, Lady?" 

"How could I forget them?  They come oft unbidden and unwelcome to my mind - a foreboding of what was to be."

"Yes, and so they come to me as well.  But I also remember how Finwë held us together until the day he died.  It was not an easy thing to give unwelcome council, especially when those to which the council was given were themselves mighty lords, and not always well-disposed towards him.  Yet Finwë always managed to bring it off, and would have succeeded even if he were not our King." 

Celeborn pointed out drily, "I doubt me that being King was too much of a hindrance.  But Elu was the same, until his last years.  Proceed with your council, unwelcome though it may be.  Though I would ask why you speak here before Cirdan."  He then turned to the elder, but Cirdan merely shook his head.  

Erestor continued.  "We speak of the Three, and I knew the mind of their maker better than any other here.  Cirdan could say the things I will say - but he has already told you that our councils are alike."  He looked to each of the three in turn; all far greater than himself, though only one like to his long-dead friend and heart-brother.  

"Say on, then, friend."  Galadriel interjected.

"The Three were made,  _in part,_ as tools of healing and preservation, and Celebrimbor reasoned that the greatest wounds to be healed were those dividing the  _Quendi_ amongst themselves and from the  _Atani_.  For this reason he gave the Three to you, Lady, to Gil-galad, and to Cirdan.  The mightiest Elf in Ennor, the greatest, and the wisest, in that order." 

Celeborn maintained his composure with some effort.  Never had Celebrimbor admitted this, though he himself had long suspected something of the kind -  _and the tales of commoners regarding Celebrimbor's reasons were quite outlandish!_ But his laughter died rapidly against the hard reflection of how much pain Nenya had caused his wife over the long-years. 

But Galadriel laughed aloud, a quicksilver sound.  "Tyelpo did not put it quite that way when he gave it to me, but I do not dispute your claim.  I have tried to put his gift to good use.  All Elves of good will are welcome in Lothlorien, Elda and Avar alike.  What, then, have you to say, Erestor?"

"That you, Lady, have shown your  _greatness_ , even over and above Gil-galad, in extending such welcome.  But it needed no Ring to do so."

Galadriel now turned sharply.  "And you will say next that I was given it for my  _might_ , and that I have ill-used."

Erestor nodded. 

Galadriel continued.  "With swift arguments you would say that Celebrimbor intended the Three to be used to heal  _all_  Ennor, not concentrated in a few sheltered strongholds. That we should not seek to recreate Valinor here.  That a fair realm of Men springs up upon our south-border, that it is our choice to help them and teach them as my own brothers did long ago in Beleriand, or to let them fare as best they can on their own.  That, clearly, the first course is best." 

Erestor nodded again.  "And you would say that my own Lord has chosen a middle course, and helps Men less than he might.  And would think, but not say, that that is putting things charitably.  And I, I would agree with you fully.  Yet Elrond sees things that I cannot.  But, since we are now putting words on one another's lips and thoughts in one another's minds, perhaps we should let others speak?"

Celeborn took up this offer instantly, speaking softly but in a manner that left no room for doubt.   “If you disapprove of Lorien's policies, it is to me that you should speak."

Cirdan, too, broke his silence.  "No one questions that, Celeborn.  Nor do any here seek to usurp your authority - not  _this_  time."  The ancient one glared briefly at Erestor, cursing the folly of the Eregion rebellion the latter had helped lead, before continuing.  "And I know your reasons, the whys and wherefores.  Yet you two cannot be Thingol and Melian.  I, the eldest here, say that your policies, Celeborn, do not fit our times."   

"War will come, and who will win?  Not the Elves, if we do not have as many Men as possible on our side.  That many will be on the Enemy's side is inevitable.  Thus our task is to keep our allies, and to win new ones, even if we like them not.  This one truth has never changed, and never will.  Distasteful though it is, it  _is._ That is why I welcomed the Feanorians even though Ossë had told me of Alqualonde.  A bitter pill it was, yet not so bitter as death or thralldom at the hands of Morgoth’s servants." 

"Thingol would not or could not follow my council at that time, and I do not blame him.  But here and now, you  _are_  presented with a fair people upon your South-border.  I have been among them.  Though they are not of the Dunedain, they have proven their worth as thoroughly as any of that people.  The sons of Eorl could be mighty allies to us in the days to come.   We need only reach out to them. _"_  

Celeborn shook his head.  "They fear us greatly.  Several of the Galadhrim, journeying alone or in pairs outside our borders, they have shot dead.  I do not know the source of their fear.  They came from the North, and doubtless some shadow followed them here, either of the Enemy or simply of the past."   

He allowed himself a sad smile.  "Not knowing, I have restrained our people from any reprisals.  But how are we to make them our allies when they would sooner shoot us than speak to us?  At present, we cannot even break bread together, much less make alliance.  In any case, the role I think you envision us playing, Cirdan, is already being played by the Men of Gondor.  We hope that Gondor will teach them to unlearn their fear.  Until that day comes, we can do little to aid them."

Cirdan nodded.  The Rohirrim had not feared  _him_  greatly, because upon seeing his beard, all had thought him one of the Istari.  He had not troubled to correct this error, but now realized he should have.   

So, with contrition he replied.  "That is ill news.  If Gondor teaches them thus, your restraint will be rewarded, but if it does not, nothing will change.  Yet in Gondor, and particularly its coastlands, we can still ask boons of the lords and captains.  I will go there myself, to ask the coastal princes to ask the Steward to send loremasters north to Rohan.  Or better yet, minstrels - they are not a lettered people, and may not mix well with the learned among the Dunedain."  

Cirdan paused, considering.  "It is too long since I have visited the Falas of the South.  Will you go with me, old friend?"

Celeborn's look of pain was rebuke enough.  "The Falas hold dark memories for me, all too near.  Amroth is held in esteem there, it is said, but as the son of Amdir, not of Celeborn and Galadriel.  And I have heard that Mithrellas left the first Lord of Dol Amroth, the descendants of whom are the mightiest of the southern princes, alone to wither in old age.  That was shameful.  She was of my people - so, besides the personal sorrow which would surely weigh heavily upon me to the ruin of any such visit, I cannot be sure the Men there would not hold me in scorn.  Though it would not be without some justice, that would be too much for my patience, I am afraid.  And truly, I do not think you need any Elf of this Wood in your company, Cirdan.  I would be  redundant, I deem.  If the Dunedain have forgotten the Shipwright, it is already too late."

Erestor broke his silence.  "I will go with you, if you wish it, Lord.  It is not so long since I have been to Gondor.  Ciryon I knew and admired.  And the Falas of Gondor hold no shadows for me." 

"Would Glorfindel not make a better messenger?" Celeborn interjected.

Erestor shook his head sadly.  "He would, but he will not be given leave to go, and so he will not go.  Also, Elrond holds the Stewards in scorn.  His stated reasons are strange.  Perhaps he sees something that I cannot, but he does not say what it may be."

"He will give  _you_  leave to go, but not Glorfindel?"  Celeborn again interrupted.  "Or.."

The dark eyes flashed.  "Elrond has my allegiance, always.  But I am foremost amongst his counsellors precisely because I need not and have never shied from privately or even openly disagreeing with him.  I have shown enough loyalty to retain my position these past thirty  _ennin_.  Have you none such among your own people, Lord?" 

Celeborn half-smiled, ruefully.  "I had several, but they have all either fallen in battle or removed to Mirkwood.  They would rather face Orcs and spiders than my wrath, it seems.  So be it.  But I guess, at the least, you will not go as a messenger of Imladris?  Elrond has not spoken to me of his distrust of the Stewards.  That is unfortunate, for I do not know what he may foresee."   

He turned.  "Do you, beloved?"

Galadriel stared intensely at nothing for nearly a minute.  Finally, "All in Gondor is dark to me, and I dare not concentrate too closely on Minas Tirith."  

Erestor replied, "Indeed I would not be going as a messenger of Imladris, or even tell them whence I came.  I shall go as - " he paused, turning his gaze from Celeborn to Galadriel to say the words - "one well known to the maker of the Palantiri.  That shall be title enough for the Steward, I think."

Cirdan nodded, the meeting concluded, and the two visitors departed. 

 

oOo 

 

Galadriel sank into her chair, suddenly weary. 

Celeborn placed his hand upon her knee. "Do not mind him, beloved.  You have done the best you could, and we have walked our hard path according to such wisdom as we have.  What more could anyone ask?"  

"The followers of Fëanaro could ask more.   One just did, did you not hear?  War and hatred undying they promised Morgoth and all who served him, and they still hold to that part of the Oath." she replied.  "While bold strokes may yet avail, however small the chance of success, no other course will they consider.  If the Doom of Mandos is never to be lifted, that is wisdom."

Celeborn coughed.  Such bloodymindedness was hardly a virtue.  If anyone had shown worth, it was Cirdan.  "I do not think so, beloved.  But it is they who need pardon, not you, so do not place yourself in their position.  If the Valar will forever hold those who crossed the Grinding Ice as being - as guilty as those who burned the ships - then I say that this Wood is better than Valinor, with or without Celebrimbor's trinket.  Lorien is what it is today because of your labor and sacrifice, and mine, and those of our people, not because of anything the Ring alone can do.  If it were to lose its power tomorrow, not one Elf in this Wood would think less of their Lady."  

Galadriel wished very much that that were true, but loved her husband all the more for not only saying it but  _believing_  it.  And for perhaps even being right in some way that even she could not see.

As for Celeborn, he wished that Nenya would indeed lose its power tomorrow.  For, apart from the strain the Ring placed on his beloved, Cirdan's words concerning the Rohirrim were wise.  But how could Men do aught but fear a land free of stain, decay,  _or even, for the love of Manwë’s bollocks, snow in wintertime_?  He feared it himself sometimes, and felt right to do so.   _Caras Galadhon_  they dwelt on, but Galadhon, were he to return as Luthien had, would not recognize his own hill, now held by his own son!  Thus Celeborn knew Cirdan's proposed mission was impossible as asking the Sun not to rise, and a waste of time.  But there was no point in telling the Shipwright that.

* * *

_The idea of Erestor as a lord of Eregion and supporter of Celebrimbor comes from Marnie's wonderful story “Dancing in the Darkness”._


	6. Thralls to Unseen Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourth Age Valinor holds many delights, but not only these.

The reunion in Tirion was more than Galadriel had dared to hope for. Celebrian was well and whole. Nolofinwë and many of his House had been reembodied, and Galadriel found her father was glad to be rid of the Kingship he had never sought. 

All brimmed with joy at her return. Many had been born long after the Exile, and Galadriel found her tales of both Ennor and the Time of the Trees in great demand. It was awkward to again be a subordinate after so many years as a ruler, but suffering some minor insults to her pride was hardly a burden after three Ages of fighting Morgoth and Sauron! 

And all of her brothers were back! Finda, with Amarië and their children by his side, was happier than ever. Angarato fairly sparkled whenever his newly returned son and grandson were about. Artaresto and Aikanaro were as she remembered, ever in petty quarrels, yet inseparable. Her parents' eyes particularly shone at the sight of their family whole again after so many years of agony.

Innumerable cousins also renewed acquaintainces.. Soon enough she had laughed and sung with her mother's side of the family, of both branches, from Olwë and Elu on down. Death indeed sat lightly on the likes of the Greymantle, and Beleg Cuthalion who was again his Marchwarden, though the latter longed for his proper home in Ennor.

Even some she had not expected to see came to greet her: the Ambarussa, Tyelkormo, and most surprisingly, Carnistir. The latter had explained in his typical fashion: "Mandos made a mistake," and had maintained a grim facade for several minutes before laughing and embracing her. They had talked for hours. It seemed that this was a place of healing indeed....

But not all came to Tirion. Amroth was nowhere to be found, nor was he in Namo's Halls, but since she had long suspected that her son had chosen to remain Houseless, this grief was not a shock.

More disconcerting was the absence of Indis and her relatives. Finally, she asked her father. "Atar, where is Daernaneth?"

He frowned. "At the foot of Taniquetil, with the rest of the Vanyar."

"They will not come?"

"No."

"Are they much occupied?" Vanyar were known for their love of family, and must be in the midst of something crucial if they could not visit. 

At that he laughed bitterly. "Occupied? Nay. They do naught but 'glory in the light', as they put it. That is all they have done since we returned from the War."

"Is Ingwë still High King?" 

"Supposedly." In truth Ingwë had been effectively unkinged when he declined to sail to that war, and the Vanyar had followed Eonwë directly ever since, but this was not openly spoken of in Tirion, even among princes. "But he has not given either myself or Nolo any direction or even taken council with us since Eru dealt with the Numenoreans." 

"So they do naught?" Galadriel was astonished. 

"They still sing their songs and tend their fields, but they are not as you remember. In fact, daughter, I do not advise that you go to see them. My last visits were most upsetting. It is as if they are losing control over their own feär." 

"They are fading then? Here?" She shuddered at the thought. Her father had not seen many Elves fade, and perhaps had misinterpreted something - otherwise his words made no sense. Or perhaps the Vanyar no longer had need of hroär, and were fading in the other manner long foretold. But that was not supposed to happen yet! Was the time of the Elves ending even in the Blessed Realm? 

Arafinwë embraced his youngest child. "Nay, I know what fading is. Nor is it the other - Dagor Dagorath is not upon us. But this is ill enough! Their hroär are as fair as ever, but their feär are ... slipping away! I doubt Amille would even recognize you without prompting. Have you ever seen one who was grievously wounded, and though healed in body, became thrall to the poppy-medicine? We had a few among our people after the War. But the Vanyar are nearly all like that now, though there is no poppy there that eyes can see. That special spirit they once had, which so enchanted us, is utterly gone. Please, do not go to Taniquetil!" 

"There is nothing we can do for them then?"

Her father merely shook his head sadly, unable to answer further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Death sat lightly', one of the prettiest phases applied to a reembodied Elf, comes (I believe) from Marnie's 'Seeds of Old Trees'.


End file.
